


This Is No Threat, It's Just an Invitation

by Velocity_Owl87



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Aftermath of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Conversations, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Hospitals, Infidelity, Introspection, Near Death, POV Male Character, Slow Romance, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocity_Owl87/pseuds/Velocity_Owl87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five snapshots of Donald Ressler and his changing view points of both Elizabeth Keen and Raymond Reddington and how they impact his life. Not to mention force him out of his routine and into something that he had thought lost ages ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is No Threat, It's Just an Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a story that I got the idea first from the Stewmaker episode when Keen breaks in Ressler's arms and how he looks so reluctant to comfort her, yet does and how he starts to thaw in later episodes towards her. It just hit me that he's starting to have more feelings for her than he usually allows and that's why I had to write. Not going to lie that Anslo Garrick was also a spur to write this as well. 
> 
> Not going to lie that I've falling hard for Diego and his Ressler and him and Keen would be such a kick ass power couple if it goes that way. 
> 
> Title is from the Manic Street Preacher's "Show Me The Wonder". 
> 
> Proofed and edited, but if the mistakes persist, let me know.

Ressler was taken aback when he saw her the first time.

There was nothing hard about her and he was reminded of a small bird. She was built like one too. All fragile bones and petal skin and pink lips. Wide, clear blue eyes that couldn't have hidden a lie even if she had wanted to. She wasn't what he usually encountered in the Bureau, never mind the Post Office. 

Most of them that came to the FBI came because there was a passion or some unfinished business that the Bureau would be able to help them settle. Or they hoped that would be the case. Others had been broken badly and needed desperately to prove that they were capable of being more than just broken people. Others needed to believe in fighting the good fight and doing _something_ worthwhile in a fucked up world. 

Keen didn't fit any of those categories. At least not yet. 

But there she was. And a _profiler_ of all things. He didn't like profiling. He believed in tangibles and he didn't believe that anyone could be a good enough cartographer of human emotions and personalities to pinpoint motives. 

(He quickly silenced the small part of him that had always needled him as to whether he didn't like them simply because they would and could possibly tear down his carefully crafted defences. He worked perfectly fine without emotional distractions. So he was always quite diligent in tamping that down damned fast)

He wanted to dismiss her, for her seeming fragility and her questionable connections and why a criminal he had been working to take down for years wanted to speak only to her. 

Those hidden truths that Reddington was only too happy to bring out in the light made him stay put. He couldn't walk away from either Keen or Reddington. Not now. 

So he grit his teeth and forced himself to stay, watch and learn all that he possibly could in order to deal with them both. 

They weren't a single problem he had to solve. They were a package deal and he would have to work with them together in order to reach the end goal of all that he had worked for. 

It didn't mean that he was going to go easy on her. She would have to earn everything that she would get with him. He would make sure of it. 

_Two_

Ressler hadn't even met the husband, yet he could tell that he was either been framed spectacularily, or he was a liar and then some. Whatever it was, he could see his existence starting to chip away at Keen's armour more than the work that they had been doing under Red. Tom Keen, Ressler felt, was probably the one thing that would break her badly enough to leave a mark. 

She put on a brave face for the world and threw herself into work, but the cracks were beginning to appear. She could only smooth them over for so long and with someone as sharp-eyed as Reddington focusing on her, it was only a matter of time until something happens. 

It did when she got captured by the Stewmaker. 

Ressler hated to admit that if it wasn't for Reddington's deviousness, they wouldn't have found the cabin. Nor would they have found Keen sitting there bruised and helpless with too bright eyes waiting for her death. 

The Stewmaker, Ressler is sure was killed off by Reddington. But he had no proof that he did it. Only a gut feeling that couldn't easily be confirmed. He didn't stick around to get his confirmation. There was work to do. 

Work like get Keen to an ambulance to get some medical aid. 

He walked with her, only doing the decent thing as a partner would when she finally broke down and cloung to him as she cried like a child. She was shaking and her crying was harsh and brutal and that was all the verification that he needed to know what happened in there. 

She' was not weak, despite her appearance. She had faced death down and impossible odds already. But this was different. Much too different to just be that. 

He didn't want to get involved or get closer to her than he needed to, but he also never has been a needlessly cruel man. So he wrapped the blanket tighter around her and pulled her into his chest while she clutched at his shirt and cried. He comforted her as best as he could without crossing a line, murmuring soothing little noises and holding her until her breath was hitching and she was making these hiccuping noises that signalled the tempest was over and done with. 

He let her push herself away and waited for her to give him a small smile before he finally was sure that she was going to be fine. 

If later on, when he went home and looked at the tear-stains on the front of his crumpled shirt and remembered what it felt like to hold her, he pretended it doesn't affect him much. He only shook his head and threw the dirty shirt into his hamper before going to take a shower. 

He also dismissed any memories he had of how she smelled and how fiercely the urge to protect her rose in his chest after that. 

He won't acknowledge it at all. 

Ever.

_Three_

He supposed that was why he brushed her off when she tried to profile him. 

(He had to admit that the anger and the tender tendencies had been spot on. The Asian porn wasn't. He wasn't a cliche when it came to his preferences, thank you very much)

She was getting too close to what he was at the core and he was getting nervous. He didn't want her to go there. Not when he was struggling after having his world turned upside down. First with Reddington coming in and now with the feelings that she had forced him to notice after years of hibernation. He was fine with how things were before. He loved his job, he loved his schedule and he loved the predictability of it all.

It was a tried and true formula and it worked for him. He loved helping people and he loved doing what was right for his country. There was nothing else he really wanted out of life. 

But Reddington and then Keen were starting to make him start to look again and ask questions and he wasn't ready for all of it. 

Nor did he want anyone to see it.

He thought he had succeeded in hiding it all. 

But knew he had failed when Keen asked him about his little performance. 

He had tried to brush it off with a line about it being expected. 

He knew he hadn't fooled or phased her with the way that her mouth worked and her eyes widened just a fraction. 

She smelled a rat and he just brushed past her, hiding behind silence and protocol.

He had to push her back again. 

He couldn't have anyone get so close again. Not when he knew what was going to happen in the end. 

Ressler found that he didn't have to work so hard at it when the next thing he knew was that Tom Keen is pulled in for an investigation that is tied with their latest case. 

Keen was too concerned with her husband and Gina Zanetakos to turn her questions towards him.

(In his defence, his pride had taken a wounding after Zanetakos had kicked his ass in an _elevator._ He made a solemn promise he wouldn't ever make that mistake again. Even if it meant more stairs)

He couldn't quite ignore her distress and despite himself, he told her to start taking care of herself. 

He surprised her, he knew that. 

But he couldn't watch her tear herself apart and do nothing about it when he could do something.

_Four_

The irony wasn't lost on him as he felt Reddington bind up the meaty pulp that remained of what had been his leg. The man that he had hunted for five years at such personal cost was now the only hope, no matter how dim, of surviving to see another day. 

But he had always been both a pragmatist and a realist and was fully aware of the odds.

Ressler was dying. 

He was getting colder and he had tried so hard to ignore the dripping of his blood onto the concrete. But the knowledge was there. He was going to die, lying on a metal gurney with Reddington looking down at him and doing what little field medicine he can with such limited resources. 

Anslo Garrick won't get those fucking codes. No one would give up Reddington to him and at least he could take some cold comfort in that at least. 

He didn't want to die, but he could at least die with the knowledge that he had died doing his job and that he would get a nice burial and a commemoration on top of it all. 

At least he thought it would be the case until Reddington started talking. 

Reddington's hands weren't still, they were moving all over Ressler's body in an attempt to keep him hanging on that much longer. But he wasn't quiet. He talked the entire time. Talked to him. Or to Garrick, who would come close only to taunt them both. 

Ressler endured it all, there was no point in fighting back. His time was running out with each drop of blood and he would much rather not spend what little time he had left arguing. 

But then Reddington gave him his blood and his voice changed from the usual supercilious, sarcastic tone into one of almost gentleness and Donald found himself cracking in a way that being wounded and on the edge of death hadn't cracked him. 

Reddington asked about Audrey and answered the questions that Donald could wheeze out in between bouts of agony. 

Donald could barely keep track of it all, he was slipping and he knew it. He was just barely clinging on when Reddington started his soliloquy of all that he wanted to do, just once more. 

Donald couldn't help the tear that slipped down his cheek. 

He didn't want to die. Not yet. Not without having his own list of places and people and things he wanted to see. 

(He wanted. Oh he wanted so much to smile at Liz and for her to part her pink lips and...)

_Five_

When Donald came to, he was confused. 

He wasn't cold any longer. Nor did he hear the sound of his blood hitting the floor. 

The coldness was gone. But the pain. Jesus! The pain was still quite present and making itself known. He would have clamped his mouth on the groan of pain that escaped him, but he had no strength left whatsoever. 

He opened his eyes and was relieved to see the plain white tiles of a hospital ceiling and the IV pole with many bags at the edge of his peripheral vision. He hadn't died. He wasn't in hell. 

But he was in a hell of a lot of pain and he was alone.

Like always. 

He shouldn't have felt it as heavily as he did. It hadn't been the first or the last time that he was going to find himself alone in a hospital room to get his cut up and broken body healed enough to go out to the front lines again. It was just part of the job. Part of his life. 

Just like the pain was clouding his mind was. 

He reached over to get at the call button when he stopped the moment he saw Liz sitting at his bedside, her eyes smudged and bruised and a Styrofoam cup of hospital coffee at her elbow. Her clothes were rumpled and she looked like she hadn't slept in ages. 

He would have kept on looking at her longer, but the pain got worse and he had to lie back and breathe through his nose and bite his lip to not cry out. 

“It's okay, Donald. I've got it.”

Liz's voice and soothed him. He had to be dreaming, but the feel of her hands wrapping around his was too real to be just a fever dream. He couldn't discount it. Not when the pain flared up into something hellish and blotted everything out except the feel of her cool hands anchoring him and her voice murmuring quiet encouragement until the nurse finally got him some painkillers and put him under again. 

He came to later, to the same sight of her sitting in the same chair. 

Only her clothes had changed, but the smudges under her eyes were still there and an open file was sitting on her lap. She had a pen in her left hand and it was only that which made him realize she wasn't wearing her wedding rings any longer. 

She chose that moment to look up from what she was looking at and smile at him. A real smile, not a tired smile and he couldn't help but to return it. It had been what he had been hoping for, as he had lain there, with his life passing by in slow increments.

It had been worth it, Donald decided as he watched her close the folder and lean forward. 

So worth it. 

_+1_

It took Donald a moment or two to realize that he was not in bed alone. There wasanother person in the bed beside him wrapped up with their chest flush against his back, their leg thrown over his. He was warm and comfortable and _safe._ It was not a feeling he was used to after almost five years of sleeping alone. 

He turned his head just enough to look at Liz and felt a foolish smile and an equally foolish warmth fill him up. 

She looked so innocent, sleeping with her head pillowed on her arm and tendrils of her hair across her sleep-flushed face. 

He turned his head and frowns at the alarm clock. They'd have to get up in half an hour and he had to admit that for once, he regrets that he has to be up so early. 

He squinted at the small date on the corner of the clock and let out a quiet sigh of relief. 

They had a day off. 

She wanted to go to the Farmer's Market and pick up some jam and plants. She wanted live things in his apartment, to brighten it up now that her dog was gone. He hated plants, but he couldn't deny her. 

He was a sucker for her smile and the way she looked at him with those wide eyes of her and that secret smile of hers. 

He was in love with her. Just like she was in love with him and after finally realizing it...The prospect wasn't as scary as he once thought. 

He could do this.

He wouldn't neglect her.

Nor would he simply watch her leave and not follow and try again. 

He shifted so that he was facing her and pulled her close, slotting her head underneath his chin and wrapping his arms around her. 

Liz only sighed sleepily, but curled up against his chest, blindly seeking the comfort and warmth he provided. 

He closed his eyes, for once at ease and content with everything in the world. 

END.

 


End file.
